Without You
by A-GIRL-NAMED-BILLY
Summary: How did all the poets react to the tragic end to our beloved movie? This story followed Todd, Keating, Knox, Neil's father, and Charlie after the death of their friend.
1. Tears

Without You

AN: I always feel like my songfics are incredibly cliché and have probably been thought of before now but are too cliché to actually be posted. I'm carpe dieming again and posting this though.

The whole 'tears don't freeze' comes from me because I was outside with my dog and I thought we were going to put him down that night and I was crying really hard and a) I didn't feel the cold, though the ground was frozen solid and b) my tears didn't freeze (obviously). Turns out we did have to put him down, which made me cry again…I'll shut up now.

Lemme just put this in here, the EPIC AN is that the end of the last chappy. I wasn't originally going to split this up but now I am so have fun.

Disclaimer: I don't know why anyone would think I own RENT/Dead Poets, or anything else in here, but just for copyright happiness and future reference… I DON'T. poo and double merde! (for Pittsie/EE23)

Tears

Todd Anderson did not know how long he stood on the end of the dock. And when he was tired of standing, how long had he sat, snow soaking through his thick jacket? He knew he was freezing, shivering and probably had chapped and blue lips, but somehow he could not feel it. _Tears don't freeze_ he thought, wiping his hand across his face. He thought the sky was dark. He thought he was sitting on the wood of the dock, the snow having melted beneath him, he thought he had sat in the same place for days. He thought Charlie had come into his room early that morning, tears streaming down his face…he thought…and then he didn't want to think anymore, he tried not to.

What he did not have to think about though, was the warm hand he felt on his shoulder, "Todd?" he looked up into his father's face. He tried to think back to the last time he had heard his father say his name…and couldn't remember. He remembered the cold nickname, 598. He wished he would stop thinking. Everything brought him back to the memories he didn't want to have anymore, not if they were going to keep him like this. "Come on son, you can't sit out here. You'll freeze." Todd sniffed and with the aid of his father, stood up. "You're soaked. How long have you been out here?" He sounded caring, interested, finally! It just figured that it had to take _this_ to make him so. Todd shook his head. His father made a quiet "Oh," of understanding that his son did not want to speak, put his arm around him and walked him back to the school building.

"Go change into something dry, okay?" said his dad when they entered Todd's dormitory hallway. He didn't want to enter the old room, least of all alone, with nothing but his cursed thoughts, but he did.

_Without you, the ground thaws,_

_The rain falls, the grass grows.  
Without you, the seeds root,_

_The flowers bloom, the children play._

It seemed only minutes had passed, but the passing of minutes in the middle of a cold Vermont winter, would not yield sunshine, green trees, soft grass, and people outside. What had been happening? That was something Todd couldn't remember now either. He had no idea that nearly six months and ten thousand tears had passed between the time on a frozen dock and the time inside on a beautiful summer's day.


	2. And Shakespeare

With Shakespeare

John Keating sat in his classroom, looking out at the rows of empty desks. How could this have happened? How could such a room, once filled with life, energy of young minds, and free-thinking have become by any stretch of the imagination _empty_? Emptiness, in any respect and with regard to anything in the room, just did not seem possible.

He stood up slowly, walked around his desk to the third seat back in the second row from the right. Sitting down in this school had always brought him back to his days as a Welton student, but not that day. That day, _he_ was empty, and if not entirely empty, missing something.

_The stars gleam, the poets dream, _

_The eagles fly, without you.  
The earth turns, the sun burns, _

_But I die, without you._

He had not been inside the walls of the school for…how long? It had been long enough for birds to return, long enough for there to be no need of a coat outside, long enough for someone to have emptied this room of all they had added to it. Too long.

He _had_ encouraged the poet to dream, no, the _poets_. He knew it. The boy's father's words had stuck with him, ringing again and again in his ears, "This is entirely your fault." Finally, _finally,_ after possibly months of wondering over guilt, he knew. It was _not_ his fault. Yes, he had encouraged him to act, to aspire, to dream, but he knew that it had had allowed him to really _live_. He was rebelling and doing what he loved at the same time. Mr. Keating made a point never to let himself forget that _he_ had given him that. He had given him the confidence and the inspiration to be an actor.

And now…that poet was no longer a pledge, he was a dead poet, officially. He was with Byron and Shelley, Wordsworth, Whitman…and Shakespeare, and _Shakespeare_ the man himself_._


	3. The Tides Change

The Tides Change

Knox Overstreet knew Chris hated that he couldn't let go. She hated it because it made living so hard for Knox, and he had tried to let go, for her, but couldn't and there was nothing he could do about it.

As Knox lay on a blanket, on a gently sloping grassy hill near the ocean, he felt a tear slide away from his eye. Chris raised her head from his chest. She said his name and he answered, wiping the tear away as subtly as he could. She sat up more fully and kissed him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, pulling away.

_Without you, the breeze warms, _

_The girl smiles, the cloud moves.  
Without you, the tides change, _

_The boys run, the oceans crash. _

How many times had she asked him that question? How often had they walked down here and watched the water and the children? Knox shook his head in a sign of 'I don't know'. He didn't know how many, or how often or how many waves had crashed on the beach, or …anything. He felt like he didn't know anything anymore. He did not even know if he was 'okay'. "What day is it?" he asked.

"It's Thursday, Saturday June 6th. You just got out of school two days ago. Don't you remember? We've come down here every day since."

He nodded, "I remember, vaguely, but…." He shook his head again. "It's so strange Chris. Without him, none of us are the same." She noticed a Frisbee fly over them, heard the water come crashing in, taking sand and shells back into the ocean with it. He saw nothing, stared blankly up at the sky. "Imagine clouds without wind, or the ocean without the tides. Clouds and the oceans would still be there, but there would be nothing to them. No change, no memory All of us are like that now."


End file.
